


12 Days of Christmas Special

by EmmaraldNightmare



Series: Blood Moon Series [6]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blankets, Candytale, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Feelings, Christmas Presents, Cold, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Cat Antics, Drunkenness, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Ice Sculptures, Kiss on the Cheek, Laser pointer, Letters to Santa, Online Shopping, References to A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Sledding, Sleepy Cuddles, Snowball Fight, tiredness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaraldNightmare/pseuds/EmmaraldNightmare
Summary: 12 days of Christmas one shots with the Dark Sanses.The gang are preparing to welcome the most wonderful time of the year.
Series: Blood Moon Series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783549
Comments: 225
Kudos: 101





	1. Christmas Decorations

**Author's Note:**

> 12 days until Christmas and I'm counting them down with a short one shot a day.
> 
> These will mainly focus on the Dark Sanses, since I am unashamedly bias, but I've planned some which involve Ink and Dream as well.
> 
> These will also likely be no more than 1000 words each, but it was something fun I wanted to try. The prompts I'm planning on using are the first 12 in the tags.
> 
> You don't need to have read the other fics to understand most of these.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare finds an odd decoration.

Nightmare frowned at the white pile of pumpkins sitting in his favourite armchair. The strange art piece wore a scarf, a top hat and sticks for arms. In an effort to make the thing more friendly someone had even painted a big smiley face onto the top vegetable. 

It was having the opposite effect. 

The wide black eyes made his tar crawl in a way no genocidal human ever had, and if he were prone to paranoia, he’d swear they were following him.

“Who the heck put this here?”

The pumpkin stack, being a pumpkin stack, didn’t answer. It just kept staring in a way that suggested if it could swallow his soul, it would.

He’d been finding these, in Error’s words, abominations scattered around the castle all day. The kitchen ceiling was coated with glittery spiderwebs, there was a tinsel tussled tombstone in the garden and for some reason only the supreme Gods of interior decorating could ever hope to comprehend, a blow-up hell hound with a red rubber nose and antlers in the hallway.

This’d better be a joke because if it wasn’t his gang was a lot more disturbed than he ever imagined. Worse, he couldn’t tell if that made him happy or deeply terrified him.

Cross wandered past with his arms laden down by torn bedsheets and a tube of wrapping paper. He halted when he noticed Nightmare attempting to shift the not snowman out of his seat while straining to avoid touching it any more than was strictly necessary. 

“Cool huh?” he asked.

Nightmare looked up from his task. The other’s smile did nothing to ease the concern that’d wandered into his skull. “Do you know what this is?”

“Sure,” Cross said. “That’s Slushy, I made him from the Halloween decorations.”

Of course.

Nightmare removed ‘Slushy’ from his armchair and proceeded to place it in the corner. After a moment of consideration, he threw a blanket over its face for good measure and turned back to Cross. “You do realise we could just buy new Christmas decorations.”

“Yes, but this is better for the planet. It’s recycling.” 

Considering their jobs involved destroying literal worlds to make up for the mass of new ones being produced every day, recycling felt more than a little counterintuitive.

“Get rid of them,” Nightmare said.

Cross pouted. “Why? They’re not hurting anyone?”

“They’re me inducing. I don’t know how you did it, but you have single-handedly made Christmas decorations more horrifying than any Halloween ones in existence.”

Cross sulked harder. His bottom jaw quivered. It would’ve worked better with lips, but people used what they had. “So, you want me to take them down just because you think they’ll creep everyone out?”

“That, and I don’t appreciate being upstaged in my own castle. They’re going.”

Before Cross could argue back the living room door slammed open. Horror stormed in with a bath towel wrapped around his waist and an expression that said the first person to ask why he was dripping onto the carpet would be getting a bar of soap in a very unpleasant location.

He held up what at first glance looked to be a plastic drowned corpse. Water ran down its green skin and pooled around the crooked teeth in thin streams. Its single eye rolled, red suit sagging.

Horror shook it at the pair.

“Who the heck put a zombie Santa in the shower?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear no man, woman or monster, but that thing. Points to Slushy. It scares me.


	2. Sledding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch and Blue join the gang for a sled race.

Stretch pulled his cloak over his skull, yanked down a pair of googles and checked the hillside for the fifth time. Cream and sugar topped peaks clustered with pink pines and smooth candy cane trees as far as the eye could see, and from this vantage point he could see a lot. A shiver crawled along his bones despite the winter clothing. He flicked his brother’s hood up and tucked it down, wishing he had thought to bring more layers, maybe a helmet or two.

Blue shuffled around in the sled. “Don’t worry Papy, We’re miles away from anywhere. No one’ll see us.”

Right. No lights. No towns. No people. Not even scraps of litter to indicate untidy hikers.

That was not the problem.

Since it was his first Christmas with the gang Stretch agreed to go along with their traditions. He had tried the cookies, pretty good. He had sat down for the movie marathon and fallen asleep. Now everyone was going sledding in Candytale.

No one told him how tall the hill was or that the sled would be made of actual gingerbread.

Blue bounced. Eyes wide with excitement, obliterating any chance he had of chickening out of hurdling down a fifty-foot drop in a sprinkle coated death trap. His brother promised when they set out that this would be a life changing experience. He just expected that didn’t involve it ending in the next three seconds.

Stretch craned his skull to the side to take in the other riders. Dust, suicidal as ever, stood on the front of the sled rather than in it, as if he’d decided this was snowboarding and didn’t care if he was missing tiny insignificant things like safety gear or straps. This earned him a heated scolding from Nightmare and several threats to tie him to said sled like a hostage if he was so insistent on staying there. Killer held up rope. From the look on their faces, Stretch wouldn’t put it pass either of them to go through with it.

Cross and Horror also shared a sled, taking turns tearing off pieces and comparing flavours. Nothing important, just the occasional support plank or strand of steering rope. 

Lastly Error, who Blue dragged along, lazed in his alone. Perched on the rim of the hill. Stretch couldn’t tell from this distance, maybe it was the blank expression or the line of drool, but he might’ve been napping. Did he expect to go down this drop like that? 

The more time he spent with the gang the more apparent it became that the Star Sanses might be fighting a losing battle. The crazy group hadn’t managed to dust themselves or each other yet, and with the way they acted during the holidays that was a Christmas miracle in and of itself.

Blue gave him a wide smile. “Ready to push off?”

Why not? He’d lived a full life. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as it looked. It certainly couldn’t be worse.

As the sled edged towards the top of the slope Stretch clung to the sides and steeled himself. Blue leaned forward with the kind of anticipation only a being devoid of vertigo could muster, and oh how he envied that.

They plummeted.

Stretch wrapped his arms around Blue and screamed. Somehow, against all known laws of physics the sled held. He scrunched his eyes shut and concentrated on the darkness behind his sockets, the pounding in his chest, anything but the juddering dessert beneath him. His brother’s elbow poked his ribs.

“Papy! We’re in the lead,” Blue said.

Stretch cracked an eye socket open. They were. The others fell behind them as the sled accelerated. It swerved around bushes and bumps in the path, guided by expert tugs on the reins. Never close enough to hit one. Never in danger. He didn’t know Blue was so good at this. 

He’d missed a lot. 

A knot in his stomach unclenched as he straightened his spine and peered forward. Peppermint trees shot pass on either side in a blur of white and red. Powdered sugar glittered in the sunlight as it sprayed around them, kicked up by the soaring runners. Wind whipped at his cloak and his brother’s laughter broke through it all. Cheerful squeals of pure glee, loud and every bit as happy as when they were young. 

He loosened his grip. Maybe this was okay.

That was when they ran over a log.

The sled jerked, flinging them out, over the front and into a large and thankfully soft whipped cream snow poff.

Blue leapt to his feet in seconds, shaking the sweet slush from his shirt and rushing to his brother’s side. “Wow! That log came out of nowhere!”

No, logs couldn’t move. They didn’t come out of anywhere. If anything, the two of them came out of nowhere and interrupted it’s very exciting evening with their crash landing.

Stretch spat out a mouthful of cream and pulled himself up. For a moment, that’d been everything Blue promised. Exciting, crazy, death defying fun. His soul pounded from the leftover adrenaline and a warm glow filled his chest as he looked at his brother’s face.

He was glad he came.

Blue grinned. “Wanna go again?”

Maybe next year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious as to the results of the race.
> 
> Cross and Horror came in last as their sled fell apart.
> 
> Stretch and Blue finished on foot, due to 'damages.'
> 
> Nightmare, Dust and Killer came second after going through with their promise.
> 
> Error won. He still has no idea how he got there.


	3. Letters to Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang write letters to the man himself.

Dear Santa, 

I know I am most likely on your naughty list. ~~I resent this decision and demand a recount.~~ I think this is a mistake.

I promise I have been good this year. I didn’t poison anyone ~~on purpose.~~ I only blew up my room a few times and despite what Horror may tell you I swear I didn’t know lava lamps were highly combustible. 

Please don’t tell Fresh. 

Anyway, I want a kitten. A cute little kitten with fluffy fur and soft ears. I know how that sounds but I promise to feed it, brush it, and keep it out of any dangerous chemicals that could level the castle. 

Double promise.

From a ~~sort of~~ very sorry Dust who will ~~try to be~~ definitely be better next year.

\-----

To Santa,

I want new ingredients for the kitchen and a new set of knives. I got into another contest with Dust and after I destroyed him, he had the nerve to say I wasn’t good enough to cook blowfish without rupturing the poison sack. 

I’m going to prove him wrong.

Also, I bet he’s asked for more pranking materials or something just as dangerous. If he blows up my kitchen sink and coats the place in lava lamp sludge again I’m setting out traps next December. 

Big ones.

From Horror

\-----

Dear red fatso who probably doesn’t exist. 

I’m only writing this because the voices wanted me to and threatened to sing Christmas carols until I did. I’m getting more than a little annoyed at being blackmailed all the time, but here are my demands. I want something to make wiping mistakes off the face of the multiverse easier. Doomsday devices are okay, especially if they include fire, but should not come with a timer or be easily defused by something a child could work out. 

Those are just asking to be foiled.

Also, I expect you know Ink. Give him coal from me. 

Error

\-----

Dear Mr Claus

Blue says Christmas is a time for learning new things. So, I want to learn how to play an instrument. Maybe heavy metal guitar. Dust has a ton of songs on his phone and they always sound really cool. We could learn together if you got him one as well, please, please? 

Nightmare can teach us and it should only take a few months.

Thank you in advance and good luck on the big night!

Yours Cross

\-----

Dear Santa Claus

If you bring them anything they’ve asked for I want to survive.

Sincerely Nightmare

\-----

Dear Santa, 

What he said.

From Killer


	4. Sleepy Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream works too hard at Christmas. Blue steps in. 
> 
> Luckily, Dust let him in on something helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount whose comments inspired this. I hope you all enjoy it.

Dream’s chin sagged into his chest. It was too heavy to lift back up and he didn’t want to try. Why was he here again? A dull drone hummed against his skull. Those were meant to be words. 

Right, he was talking to the king. He should be paying attention. He pushed against the haze in his head and concentrated on the noise until it buzzed back into English. 

“I like these decorations…but the citizens might prefer something more traditional. What’d you think?” Asgore sat across from him, gesturing to photographs on the garden table.

He pointed to a blurred picture of the castle ballroom filled with pure white Christmas trees and sparkly red…snakes? No. Don’t be silly. That was tinsel. Who’d put snakes up for a celebration? Dream rubbed at his sockets to bring his vision back into focus. Had he missed much? What were they talking about before this? 

“Did you hear me?” 

Dream yawned. “Yes…I like the snakes.” 

Having this talk outside was a bad idea. His fluffy duffle coat snuggled against him too much and the golden flowers surrounding them carried a sweet soft smell, like a warm cup of tea before bed. His sockets drooped again.

“How many missions have you taken on this week?” Asgore asked. “Have you eaten lately? Or slept?” 

What did he say? Oh, sleep. Last night…week…two weeks? Guardians shouldn’t need as much as other people, surely. 

“I’m alright,” Dream said. “The holidays are just a little…busier. Lots to plan…to do.” His skull lulled forward again.

Before he could forget he tugged out a phone and opened his schedule. Was it that late? Better get going. He still had to patrol three more AUs. Gift shopping, speeches, store openings, someone else wanted advice…on party food? Who was that? He’d work it out.

The chair clattered as he stumbled out of it. “Bye. Good luck with the snakes.”

A yellow tinted portal blinked open in front of him and he fell through it, shambling into a familiar blue bedroom.

A faded pirate flag hung from a wall, static whirred from an out of date computer.

Underswap. 

Wrong way. He shouldn’t be here. He’d be late. Focus. He steadied himself against Blue’s racing car bed. 

HONK!

Dream dove back as his hand pressed against the bed’s horn. His spine slammed into a nearby table, sending him tumbling into the rug. Plastic action figures rained down on his skull. 

The door flew open five seconds later and Blue darted in. “What was that noise? Oh, hi Dream!”

“Sorry.” Dream lugged himself into a sitting position. “I’ll help…fix this. Then I have to go…wait, where was I going?”

“I don’t know, but…are you okay? As your friend I must ask, have you been sleeping?” 

Why was everyone asking that? Were they? Couldn’t remember. He yawned again, body stretching out to take it in. “Fine.”

Blue sat to his left. “Your shirt is on backwards.”

It was. Funny. Could change later. Marrow shot to his skull as he tried to stand. The room rocked in a queasy back-and-forth motion which couldn’t be natural. A hand gently pulled him back down before he could trip again. 

“You can use my bed if you’re tired. I don’t mind,” Blue said. 

“Don’t worry.” Dream waved him off and grasped the sideways table. If he could pull himself up slowly he should be fine. “Besides…I’m supposed to do this.”

Blue gripped his shoulder. “Not when you can barely stand. You’ll get sick.”

“I won’t. Besides…people…need me.” 

“They need you healthy. I won't let you leave like this and warn you not to make me resort to drastic measures.” His hand moved to Dream’s head. 

Dream tensed his joints to yank himself up. It was kind of Blue to be concerned, but he didn’t need it. He’d be okay. Just a few more jobs then-

Phalanges scratched at the area above his crown. 

Warm prickles flowed down his body. They ran along his limbs in a gentle stream, massaging tension from his bones until they became like kneaded dough. Dream sagged sideways into something spongy. His eye lights dimmed.

“Does this help?” it asked.

Dream hummed in response.

That felt nice. 

The phalanges twitched, he leaned into them, trying to shift the scratches to the right position. A contented purr rumbled from his chest. 

Wait. Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something? Missions?

The hand scratched harder, another reached around him to stroke his sore spine. Dream closed his eyes. His purr deepened as the phalanges found the perfect spot above where they started. 

Really nice. 

Silky fabric pressed against his cheek. He burrowed into it, chasing the warmth radiating from the other’s soul. His breathing slowed. 

The spongy thing moved their hands to his underarms and pulled away. 

Dream squirmed. What were they doing? Were they leaving? 

He wrapped his arms around the other’s waist and pushed them back so he could clamber on top. They couldn’t go. They were too comfortable. 

The soft thing spoke. Its voice was nice too, calm, light. Dream nuzzled his skull into a bandana around the other’s neck and settled down. His limbs curled around his new bed, gently cuddling it as he drifted off.

\----

Blue wiggled. Bony arms and legs trapped every part of him beneath them.

“Dream…can I get up?” he asked.

Dream snored into his collarbone. 

This did not go as planned. 

But a sleepover wasn’t the worst result. The last week had been so worrying. Dream came back to the base less and less and when he did it was usually only to grab a quick snack before running off again on some new errand or mission. Neither he or Ink saw him sleep, eat more than a slice of toast, or move at a speed slower than sprint in all that time. 

His brother would find them in the morning, or maybe noon, and they could have breakfast. A proper one, with eggs and bacon and waffles. Better than his friend running off and collapsing somewhere from exhaustion or starvation or both. 

He’d have to give him a stern talking to about that later. 

For now, Blue sank into the rug and rubbed Dream’s skull again, earning another nuzzle.

“Good night.”


	5. Online Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killer tries gift shopping online and needs Dust's help.

Dust choked as a hand reached out from Killers room and dragged him inside. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. He was used to his family members’ way of asking for a private chat and was grateful this one was only a quick kidnapping attempt. 

What he was not prepared for was the ruined mess of the normally calm skeleton’s room or the way half his weapons seemed to have been imbedded into the walls with great prejudice. If he didn’t have a personal hand in the castle’s security, he would’ve asked if there had been a break in. The only piece of furniture not smashed or stabbed was a lone laptop on the bed, a glitching picture of a scarf on the screen and a smiling sun emoji announcing, ‘super fluffy wuffy.’

Before he could ask what madness had gone on here, Killer turned to him. A dark strained smirk usually only reserved for their most hated of enemies contorted his features as he spoke. “It’s crashed.”

Dust could see that. What he couldn’t see was why that was so important, what it had to do with him or why it had resulted in such utter destruction of personal property. He moved closer and poked at the monitor. “What were you trying to do?”

Killer shook. A knife which was flinching a little too much for comfort clutched in his hand. “I was trying to shop for the perfect present for Nightmare online. A limited-edition scarf which sells out in ten minutes. And. My. Internet. Crashed.”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

The knife impaled itself into the wall by Dust’s skull and he suddenly wished he was anywhere but here as Killer’s still grinning maw pressed up against his face. 

“Five Times. I’ve switched it off. I’ve switched it back on. I’ve yanked the battery. I’ve done a virus check. I’ve called customer support and they say nothing’s wrong with it.” 

Dust tried to shuffle into the wall as Killer edged closer. Murderous rage looked different on everyone. Killer didn’t wear it often, but when he did it was best to be in the nearest bomb shelter with a machine gun. Not, repeat, **not** against his chest playing therapist. 

Killer snarled. “What is it with computers? They work fine day in and day out then on the one you need them to operate correctly they give up! It’s like they can smell it! It makes no sense! What insane plain of existence are we living in where computers are sentient enough to smell desperation but can’t tell the difference between cake and cantaloupe!”

Dust didn’t know and he sensed there was no right answer. 

“And sure! I could ask Error to knit a scarf, but then it wouldn’t be that scarf. The one I wanted. We live in a multiverse! A massive amalgamation of different worlds and timelines and still the only place in the whole thing that sells my perfect gift is about to sell out. How does this even happen?! Is it dumb luck? Some troll move on the behalf an uncaring vicious God? Who’d let someone like that into any position of power?!”

The door wasn’t that far. He could run and come back in an hour...or a year. Shortcuts were also an option. Except the air was quickly getting heavier as a pair of blasters formed behind the enraged mass murderer, maws blazing.

“Maybe I should just give up. Choose something else to give to the most important person in my life for the only holiday of the year where I can actually give him something without it being insanely awkward. But what?! He has practically every book in existence, weapons are a dead end, and do you know how many online shops I searched to find a coat for someone with tentacles?!”

Help!!!

Dust’s soul lifted as the computer hummed, screen blinking out of its frozen stupor. He tackled Killer to the ground before he could unleash his weapons on literally the only thing that might get the pair of them out of this alive. 

They crawled towards the device. A large red message glowed on the monitor.

SOLD OUT 

Dust took that shortcut before checking on Killer. 

Wherever he needed to be right now, it wasn’t far enough.


	6. Christmas Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink tries an experiment.

Laughter shook the Star Sanses’ base. It wasn’t the cheerful kind reserved for children playing in the snow or someone watching a festive movie. No, this booming manic glee spoke of castles in the middle of nowhere, lightning storms and breaking the barriers of science in ways no mortal should ever attempt lest they tear the world asunder and rain down holy vengeance upon themselves.

Anyone else might’ve been concerned. 

But anyone else hadn’t lived with Ink as long as Dream had. Still, the creator was being more dramatic than normal and that did bear checking on. He wrote down a note to buy more throat soothing lozenges when he got the chance and headed upstairs.

A flash of light engulfed the upper level. He smiled. Ink was in one of his festive moods again. Every Christmas he got some big idea in his head to make the holiday special. Last year it was a singing Christmas tree. The artist spent weeks training it for the big day. Which he was sure would’ve worked if Ink wasn’t a tad tone deaf.

Maybe they’d have more luck with whatever this was.

He cracked open Ink’s bedroom door and peered inside. The other had his back to him while he snatched vials from his belt and threw the colourful liquids seemingly at random into a beaker on his desk. The resulting brown concoction squished as Ink scooped it up and held it aloft. “Done!”

Dream leaned forward to examine the synthetic smelling mixture. “So, what is it?”

“Christmas! I have mixed an emotion that captures the holiday season perfectly Now I can feel like Christmas whenever I want. Great right?”

Maybe. “Does it work?”

“No clue!”

“And how do you plan to find out?”

Ink beamed. A wide smirk that was not to be swayed by minor inconveniences like common sense. “By drinking it!”

There it was. But the question still needed to be asked. Dream folded his arms. “Is that wise?”

“Not in the slightest, but you can’t stop me!”

Dream turned and headed for the door. 

Ink lowered the concoction, eye light blinking to a question mark. “Aren’t you going to try and stop me?”

“Nope,” Dream said. “I’m getting the kit.”

Ink huffed and raised the mixture to his teeth. “Suit yourself.”

\----- 

Dream crouched on the floor of Ink’s room and shook his skull at his friend. Ink lay sobbing into the carpet, occasionally cursing at someone he couldn’t see and complaining about festive music drilling into his brain.

“I don’t understand what went wrong,” he groaned. “The cashier was very detailed on what emotions perfectly summed up Christmas for them.” 

There was a strong possibility that an over worked, underpaid retail employee during the busiest season of the year was not a good life coach on the fuzzy feelings commonly associated with the holidays. 

Dream rubbed Ink’s skull in the slow back and forth motion which usually helped when he got paint sick. “How do you feel?”

“Oh stars, why is everything spinning? Please Dream, make it stop.”

As much as this was his own fault, he couldn’t leave him like this. Good thing he already set everything up. Dream pulled the other’s arm over his shoulder and guided him downstairs. Despite the other’s protests he managed to drop him into the couch and wrap the fluffiest blanket in the base around him.

Ink sagged into it. Limbs too heavy to put up anything above token resistance. “You could’ve just given me some yellow.”

Dream tucked a pillow behind the other’s skull and gave him a sideways look. “Did you mess with that colour too?”

“Maybe.” A bright rainbow crossed Ink’s face as he sank into his scarf.

“Then you’re dealing with this the old-fashioned way,” Dream said. He wandered towards the table, picked up two mugs of hot chocolate and settled down beside his friend. 

Ink sighed as he took a long gulp of the warm drink and leaned against him. “Thanks.”

Dream smiled at the expression. Ink may be childish, but he always made things interesting. Although he didn’t always tell him, the holidays would be a lot duller without his crazy plans or the occasional escaped creation. Blue would be back soon; he could help dispose of that weird potion. Preferably somewhere far away where no one would ever find it.

Until then, they had toasty blankets and homemade hot chocolate. It wasn’t bottled Christmas like Ink wanted, but it’d do.


	7. Christmas Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas spirit breaks into the Dark Sanses' AU. It doesn't go as planned.

The ghost of Christmas past was not having a good night. It’d started off fine, visiting those who needed a little mercy in their lives, walking them through the error of their ways and helping them to become better people. That last part always made him smile. Twos the season after all.

Then he entered a shadowy AU where Nightmare the king of darkness was meant to reside. A shiver went through his body. He’d heard the stories, death and destruction followed in this creature’s wake, all who entered his presence uninvited were destroyed. Left as his slaves or ruined husks almost unrecognisable as living beings.

The shiver became a full tremble of excitement.

 _Finally,_ he was getting a high-profile client. 

But maybe if he’d paid more attention at briefing, he wouldn’t be stuck in a net right now with said lord of negativity staring down at him.

Nightmare examined him with a sour grimace. “Glad to see the traps worked this year...but, why do you look like that?”

Rude. This guy may be a villain, but there was such a thing as tact. The ghost raised a set of tentacles and popped the suckers in a manner the marine biologist assured him meant something along the lines of ‘your father was a tuna sandwich and may fishhooks be in your future.’ 

“If you must know, I thought it would be comforting for you if I appeared as your younger self,” he said.

“Very kind. However, contrary to my current appearance I did not start off life as an actual octopus. Are you new?”

“Sort of."

Nightmare crouched down. A tired vein pulsed in his skull. “Well, I’m not and it’s getting old. So, maybe you can explain why every spirit within a five AU radius seems to be labouring under the delusion that I need annual morality lessons. I already have someone for that and he’s sweeter than you. Every offence.”

What!? The ghost was used to difficult clients, something about changing their entire life views and becoming a perfect model for kindness and love in less than a day was a hard sell for most serial killers. They pleaded with him, dumb, they tried to bribe him with cash, dumber, but no one’d questioned his cuteness before. 

He was adorable, even as a tar coated sea creature. Who was the king of darkness to judge?

The ghost took a breath it didn’t need and squirmed against the net. “I’ll have you know I am a Christmas spirit. I value my role and I am very good at it.”

“You are in a net.”

“I am _normally_ very good at it.” 

The ghost bristled. How was he going to explain this back at headquarters? He was definitely getting demoted if he didn’t do something. Putting on his most winning grin, he pushed forward. There had to be some good in this slime covered idiot.

“How about this, you let me out and we can do this like civilised people, I’ll show you your past, lecture you on your present and scare you half to death with a bleak worst case scenario of your future if you don’t embrace Christmas in all its cinnamon flavoured wonder.”

Nightmare opened a portal, pointed to it, and whipped off the net. “Counteroffer. Get out.”

“As loyal champion for the holidays and defender of all things merry in the AUs, I cannot.”

The already frozen air plummeted in temperature as the other moved closer. The spirit curled his tentacles around himself and stood his ground. He wasn’t going anywhere, and this guy couldn’t make him.

“Fine, stay,” Nightmare said, reaching for one of the other’s limbs. “I’m sure Horror wouldn’t mind seafood for dinner.”

The ghost choked. “That’s cannibalism!”

“Again. Not an octopus.”

There was always the chance the skeleton was joking, and he was a ghost. How do you even cook a ghost? What was he supposed to do? Die twice?

Nightmare’s fangs contorted into a jagged smirk. The ghost trembled as dark teal flames stared down at him. They didn’t offer mercy or sorrow at his discomfort. Just a quiet challenge.

Was he really willing to take a chance that this guy couldn’t bend the laws of nature and work out how to permanently end him? This was a being of pure darkness that’d killed literal worlds.

One last try.

“You’ll end up on the naughty list?”

Nightmare shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I started the thing, now about dinner?”

Abort! Attempt failed. No amount of Christmas joy or promotions was worth becoming a sushi platter. 

His tiny body thrashed as the ghost scrambled through the portal at a speed tentacles scientifically shouldn’t be able to move at on snow. With a boot from Nightmare, it disappeared off to torment some other poor soul. Or hide under a bed until the holidays were over.

Nightmare turned and strolled back towards the castle. They’d get the message one day.

He wasn’t so bad once you got to know him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being villains has its ups and downs, especially during the holidays.
> 
> Nightmare wasn't serious about eating him, but I thought it'd be fun if the gang had to deal with stuff like this to the point where Christmas spirits are just annual pests. 
> 
> I think they'd prefer mice.


	8. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping isn't always easy in the middle of winter.

Cross burrowed down into his bedsheets and yanked the thin fabric around himself. Wind beat against his window. None were open. However, that didn’t stop the chill bleeding through the walls and freezing the marrow inside his bones. 

Stop shivering. 

This was no different than the endurance training in his own AU. He’d slept outside before to prove he could handle blistering winters and searing summers. He’d stayed up for days and fought an Undyne with a headache. He could handle this.

But all worlds were different. His old one never had winters like these. The cold here felt like a living thing. It snaked its way through any space in the glass and pressed down on him, cutting deep into his bones. He grabbed one of his Error dolls for comfort and let out a squeal. 

Metal zips in the coat sent a cluster of cold jolts through his cheekbone, killing any heat still clinging there. Cross shoved it and the others onto the floor. He loved them, but the thought of knocking one over and getting another steel shock wasn’t worth it. He curled into a ball and shook again. 

No one had to know. He could run out, find some blankets, and sneak them back in the morning.

He stretched out his numb joints and crawled out of bed, jumping at the icy floor against his bare feet. 

Better get going if he wanted to find the laundry cupboard before his alarm went off. 

The hallway was worse than his room. His soul ached in his chest against the sudden wisps of air drifting through various cracks in the brickwork.

They needed to find a different way to heat the castle in this season. If a skeleton could see their breath, something was wrong. 

Wait, was he supposed to turn left or right at the last corner? Or was it the corner before that? The fog in his skull and weight in his limbs didn’t offer any answers. Another gust sent a shudder through his ribs, getting lost wouldn’t help and now he wasn’t sure he could find his way back. He stumbled forward and checked the doors on either side of him, smiling when he found a familiar one. 

Nightmare’s room.

He could go back now. However, the thought of trying to sleep in his icebox of a room wasn’t encouraging and the numbness in his feet from the stone floor ached at the idea of an extended search for potential blankets.

The door scuffled open. Cross slid through the gap and inched towards the bump in the duvet, sliding inside. He’d almost expected an unconscious Nightmare to be completely frigid and was pleasantly surprised to find it was more like pressing himself into melted marshmallow, warmed by trapping whatever heat the larger skeleton’s soul was able to produce while his aura was quieted by sleep. 

Cross snuggled down and internally cursed his guard's training against comfort. Toasty thick quilts were too great to pass up. 

A teal eye light lit up the darkness. “What’re you doing?”

Cross clutched to Nightmare’s chest. “It’s cold in my room.”

He buried his skull in the gloop. Was Nightmare going to kick him out now? He was meant to be an adult and a Dark Sans. Wanting to snuggle up to someone wasn’t very grown up or villainous. Neither was being unable to handle a little chill. He…he really shouldn’t be disturbing Nightmare anyway. Cross shuffled towards the edge of the sheets.

A firm hand pulled him back. 

“You can stay,” Nightmare said. “We’ll fix your room in the morning.”

“But, I’m not a k-”

“It’s Christmas, you’re allowed to act as young as you like. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to freeze at any time of the year.”

Cross hoped the other couldn’t see the magic rushing to his cheekbones. He could stay. No one was making him leave and he didn’t need to go back to that cold room which was entirely his fault for refusing warmer sheets. He snuggled into Nightmare and let a tentacle curl around him. It sank under his weight, creating a squishy pillow to rest against. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but it did feel good to be childish once in a while. 

“Thanks dad.”


	9. Ice Sculptures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killer carves an ice sculpture and makes a terrible mistake.

Nightmare woke up to the sound of chainsaws. That meant one of three things, his boys got into Horror’s personal arsenal again, they were re-enacting something, or a serial killer had found their way into the castle and was about to regret every life decision which led them there.

He stuck his skull out the nearest window and prayed it was the last one. An unknown psychopath with a deadly weapon was much less dangerous than any of the ones living here.

In the garden Killer hacked into a block of ice. Shards sprayed like glass and the look on his face was that of a child unwrapping a new present. Nightmare would’ve called it sweet if he hadn’t seen that expression countless times on the other’s skull right before people started screaming.

“Killer!”

The chainsaw’s din drowned him out.

Nightmare’s tentacle reached to the roof and hurled a snowball. Killer jumped when the frozen slush exploded against the back of his neck, but quickly powered down his weapon when he noticed who assaulted him and likely decided a mass of motorised blades might not be enough to take down the literal embodiment of darkness.

“Hey boss!” he called. “Making an ice sculpture. Want to help?”

Nightmare tilted his skull. “Maybe. First tell me why I still hear chainsaws.”

“Dust and Cross wanted to help.”

“Unsupervised, you gave the two most 'adventurous' members of this little group chainsaws and just trusted them to not try anything?”

Nightmare gave the other five seconds to ponder all the ways this could go and by the way Killer’s face paled he must’ve come to the same conclusion he had.

“Oh stars, what have I done,” he said.

Nightmare sighed. It wasn’t Christmas without a trip to the emergency room after all. He just hoped no one lost a limb this time. Dust was always a bit of a baby bones when it came to fixing those. Best case scenario they’d give up their game and come quietly.

“I’ll find them, you prepare the chloroform in case we don’t get the best case scenario. Then we’re having a chat about learning from experience. You do remember the flamethrower incident, right?”

Killer bolted for the kitchen and Nightmare wondered if he’d been a little dramatic as he headed towards the buzzing in the hallway. No one got everything right during the holidays. Some families got the wrong presents, others argued over the decorations. 

His had chainsaw jousting matches on gaster blasters. 

Each to their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They did not come quietly. 
> 
> But, no one lost a limb either so lets call that a win.
> 
> If anyone's curious about the flamethrower incident. The lesson is don't ask Dust and Cross to clear snow from the castle.


	10. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One unlucky gang member takes part in a challenge. 
> 
> Kiss Ink on the cheek.

Horror sprinted through the snow coated garden at a speed which would’ve made any Papyrus seriously question his status as a Sans. Cold powder sprayed under his heels as he took a sharp turn and hid behind a tree, body shaking. It wasn’t the bravest of moves, but when your dignity, your innocence and your very soul was at risk, bravery could suck it.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not losing two years in a row!” Cross yelled.

A barrage of snowballs struck the tree with the force of a machine gun. Horror took a risk and peered out to see the monochrome skeleton swinging his sword like a bat, lining up the next frozen round. Teeth bared in an expression that would’ve made his Undyne flinch...or promote him immediately.

Why were they still doing this stupid challenge?

Every year the gang, minus Nightmare who would've stopped them, took part in a sadistic game Dust dubbed the mistletoe challenge. They filled a jar with names, shook one out, had a snowball fight. Whoever lost the fight had to kiss the person from the jar on the cheek.

He and Cross were the first to get knocked out and now the ones in the death match to decide a loser.

Everyone almost choked when they got this year’s victim. 

Ink.

Horror pressed himself against the bark to repress a shiver. How much bleach would it take to get the taste of paint out of his mouth? If he was a chicken for hiding from that, buck, buck, buck.

The tree creaked.

Horror’s soul shot into his mouth as a massive red blade pierced the fir and sliced it down the middle with the same ease he might use to gut a fish. A quick dive backwards into a snow bank saved him losing an arm, but only just. Worth it. Horror snatched a handful of snow and dove through the opening. If Cross used both hands for that slice there was no way he could block him. 

There was no one on the other side.

Cold cruel realisation hit him a second before the snowball did. Cross could teleport and he'd been tricked. Horror stood with wet mush dripping down the back of his skull and shook. 

The little skeleton shuffled out from behind the divided tree, handed him a cloth and gave an uneasy smile. “Sorry, can I get you anything to help with this?”

Horror wiped the water from his skull and resigned himself to his fate. “Just make sure the others don’t record this.”

“I’m only one skeleton. You’d need an army to keep them away and besides, I want to see this too.” Cross smirked.

Traitor.

\-----

Horror shoved his visor further down his skull and straightened his red scarf. Fragile snowflakes clung to the battle body as he slunk through the park. Christmas lights shone, wrapped around a tree which equalled his brother’s house in height. Candy canes and chocolate coins the size of his arm hung from it. He would’ve been tempted to grab one, just to see if they were real, if Ink wasn’t waving at him like a lunatic from a bench beside the display.

Which of course, he was.

“Hi, you’re Mars, right?” Ink asked. 

Horror muttered something which could’ve easily been either been confirmation or a horrific curse on the other's life. He lowered himself onto the bench next to the artist and the first problem presented itself like a slap.

Ink was shorter than him. 

Ink's voice droned on about missions, friends and other bits of babble Horror couldn't concentrate on while the other’s skull bobbed slightly lower than his chin. This meant to get the cheek either Ink needed to be higher or-

Horror’s spine scraped against the wood seat as he eased himself downwards. 

The humming drill of the other’s voice shifted to concern. “Are you okay?”

He’d managed to slump himself halfway down the bench. Planks poked at his skull and a nail dug into his pelvis, but Ink’s cheek was now level with his mouth so he was about as okay as he could’ve been while bent around the bench like a broken doll. His tail bone ached from the twisted position. “I’m fine.”

Ink slid closer. “That looks uncomfortable, are you sure?”

“Yeah.” His boot slipped against the snow, driving the nail deeper into his side. Horror suppressed a wince and forced a grin. “Besides, how could I be uncomfortable if you’re here?”

Ink flushed bright rainbow. “Thanks?”

Horror choked. A bubble of acid twitched in his stomach. Where’d that come from?! Don’t flirt with him just go for it!

He thrust himself at the artist. Quick peck on the birthmark then run like hell. 

The nail stuck in his trousers jerked him back. With a squeal he’d never live down, Horror tumbled into the snow, clawing at the icy slush and shaking it off. Bloody poor craftsmanship!

Ink clambered to his feet. Nothing snagged him. Stupid bench. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Nah.” Horror pulled himself to his knees. “Fine.”

He grit his right foot into the ground and reached for the other’s hand. Let’s try this ag-

“Oh my stars! A wedding proposal! At Christmas! How romantic!”

Dust’s voice. 

A crowd of eyes turned towards him and Ink. 

Dust was a dead man.

The air stilled. Humans flowed towards the pair, encircling them in a wall of winter coats and expectant smiles. Couples clung to each other. Snuggled and waiting. 

Better let them down easy. Horror stood. “I think-“

Ink’s phalanges snatched his and jerked him forward. “Is that what this is?! I’ve never been married before, should be fun! So, yes!”

What?

Cheers erupted around them while Horror tried to piece together the jumbled mess that’d become his brain. This couldn’t be real. Someone slapped his back and congratulated him. The sore patch which rose on his shoulder felt pretty real. 

He whipped towards Ink. “Do you even know what marriage is?!”

“Sort of, we have a celebration, eat cake, give speeches, invite guests, dance, people usually cry, beat each other to a pulp over a bunch of flowers and there’s something called a hen party the day before. I’ll have to look that up.”

The urge to find a hole to crawl into and die rose steadily in Horror’s chest. How. Just how?

“Oh! And this!” Ink shot forward and planted a kiss on his cheekbone. “I better go prepare everything! So much to buy!”

Horror stood in stunned silence as the artist flicked his brush and sunk into an oily portal, waving at him as he went.

Did this count as winning the challenge?

\----- 

Horror rubbed his skull as everyone in the castle gathered around Blue to listen to the screams pouring from his phone.

“Are you there?” Dream’s voice yelled from the device. “I need you to tell me what happened, and I really need your help.”

Ink’s voice followed. “Dream, which dress? I like the white, do you think Mars’ll like it? It has a beautiful veil. We still need rings and shoes and some sort of blow-up doll for the hen party. You said you’d be my maid of honour, right?”

Dust tugged Horror’s sleeve, tone shaking with muffled laughter. “I need to know, are you marrying into the Star Sanses or is Ink marrying into the gang?”

Cross yanked the other sleeve. “Never mind that. Can I be the best man?”

Horror prayed for lightning to strike him. They’d been at this all afternoon. 

Killer watched the scene from the doorway. “So, I’m guessing this means no more mistletoe challenge?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't do this challenge. It's just something I made up for the laughs and only this lot are nuts enough to try it. 
> 
> It took a while for Blue to explain it was a misunderstanding to Ink. Dream was relieved. Ink was mainly upset about missing out on a massive party at Christmas.
> 
> Horror will never be allowed to forget this.


	11. Drunkenness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drunk ramblings of the lord of negativity...and the thoughts of the person who was stupid enough to cause it.

Someone should’ve stopped him. 

Heck, someone should’ve slapped him the second he announced he’d discovered a way to break through Nightmare’s insane tolerance for alcohol. The normal stuff couldn’t take him down, something about the guardian’s magic gave him a shield against it. However, the hardest whiskey known to skeleton, which was banned in several AUs, even the Underfells, could.

What did people say? Don’t do something just to prove you can. 

But in his defence, Horror said it was impossible and Cross was the one who dared him to spike Nightmare’s coffee within a minute of him making the big reveal. 

And like the idiot he was, he went through with it. Why didn’t anyone slap him?!

Dust jiggled the doorknob for the fourth time and focused his magic on escape for the seventh. The knob held. His magic pulsed in his bones, hot and ready, then fizzled out. Crushed by a magical seal Killer placed on the room when he threw him in here to babysit the terror he’d created.

Dammit. Why was it always him?

A chill went up his spine when the mass of shadows on the guest bed shifted. Tar slogged along the tangled tendrils as they gripped the headboard and lugged the rest of themselves into a sitting position. 

Dust turned carefully and gave the other a smile. “How are you?”

Nightmare groaned. A deep guttural noise that was tired of its lot in life and the situation it currently found itself in. “Why am I here?”

Dust sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Because you’re sick?” 

And he couldn’t think things through. At all.

“No!” Nightmare slammed his hand against the bedsheets. Or more accurately slid his hand. His body sagged forwards, tentacles lazily flopping against the carpet. “I mean, what do I mean? I mean what am I doing _here?_ With my life?”

Oh hell, Nightmare was one of those philosophical drunks. Should’ve seen that coming. He comforted himself with the thought that it could’ve been worse. They were lucky to still be breathing after the last time Horror got smashed. 

Keep him talking until he went back to sleep, or the drink wore off, that was all he had to do.

Dust leaned forward. “Can you explain?”

“What’s there to bloody explain?! I shouldn’t be here! I should be out there trying to fix things.” He gestured to the exit.

Dust jolted. No, out there was bad. Out there was full of innocent family members and bystanders. That was the whole point of the ‘in here.’

“I think we should stay until you feel bett-“

Nightmare collapsed face first into a pillow. His tar stilled.

Double hell. Was he okay? If he poisoned the boss Killer would slit his throat. Dust reached out to poke a tentacle.

He yelped and tumbled backwards off the bed when Nightmare shot up and yelled.

“That’s it! I’m sick of this whole king of darkness and pain rubbish. Screw balance! I don’t even like black all that much. I just have to put up with it because of some stupid apple I ate when I was a kid! Well, you hear me mom, I’m not letting some fruit control my life!” 

He wasn’t dead. That was something.

Nightmare jabbed at the air as he continued his speech. “I’m going to find Ink, punch him in the face, kidnap my brother and drag him back here until he gets over this unhealthy obsession he has with cleaning products.”

Dust rubbed his skull. It might’ve been the head trauma talking, but some of that actually sounded good. Wait, no don’t give into the crazy. Nightmare couldn’t fight anyone like this. Plus, everyone already agreed that convincing someone through forced imprisonment was not a good ide-

“Aaaarrrhgggh. What the heck am I talking about?!” 

Dust let out a breath and clambered back onto the bedsheets. Okay, this was good. Maybe he was coming out of it.

“I’m thousands of years old!” Nightmare moaned. “I’m ancient and I don’t have anything to show for it. No kingdom, no crown...no wife.” 

He tilted his skull and shuffled towards Dust.

Dust edged away.

He did not like where this was going.

“And I’m bald.”

That was _not_ where he thought it was going.

“Just a sad bald skeleton with crippling family issues any therapist would kill to have a shot at. My mom was a tree you know.”

“I know.” It was getting harder and harder to keep a neutral expression.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get a hug while dodging splinters? Or explaining the concept to the local wildlife? Those woodpeckers must’ve thought I was insane. I had the last laugh though, nothing says special like bark five times harder than steel. Ever see a bratty bird with a bandage on its beak?” Nightmare asked.

Dust couldn’t say that he had. When was this supposed to wear off? There was only so much he could do, and he didn’t like his chances if the other decided to just fling him aside and tear the door down. 

He didn’t like the multiverse’s chances either. 

Dear Santa, that seemed the most appropriate person to pray to at this time of year, forget what he asked for in his letter, just don’t let him be responsible for unleashing a drunk guardian of negativity on the multiverse during the holidays.

Nightmare looked around the room. “Where’s Killer? He’d like this story.”

Dust stood and made his way towards the door again. “You rest and I’m sure he’ll visit-“

A tentacle wound itself around his waist and lifted him backwards onto the other’s lap. Nightmare wrapped his arms around him, body swaying. “Don’t go. I’m sorry for…complaining so much…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dust concentrated on the buzzing in his phalanges again. Shortcuts were out of the question…but maybe blue magic? Just in case.

“My life isn’t that bad.”

“hmmm.”

Nightmare lowered his voice. “Can I…ask you something?”

Was he babbling again? He could push himself free. The hold lacked strength, only applying enough grip to keep him in place, not force him to stay if he didn’t want to. Yet, the tone was off, he couldn’t place it. A twinge of curiosity prickled the back of Dust’s skull. He let the magic go and shuffled himself around so he could face the other properly. “Go ahead.”

Nightmare leaned his skull down, letting his forehead rest against Dust’s. The teal eye light dimmed to a half-lidded ember, frail and completely out of place in the king of darkness’ normally controlled features. “Do you know what it was like before I met you, Killer, Horror, Cross?”

Dust shook his skull. Nightmare didn’t talk about those things, to anyone. 

The other sagged. “Cold…lonely…you’re all the only thing that got me out. You gave me something to hold onto that wasn’t broken.” 

Dust pulled away.

That really didn’t make sense. 

He was broken. He broke long ago. Nightmare, the others, they were the reason he wasn’t broke worse, but that didn’t change the fact. He didn’t deserve to be praised.

“You’re drunk. We didn’t do anything.”

“Wrongo.” Nightmare chuckled. “You’re the reason I’m not stark raving nuts right now…nuttier. I lost everything. My home, my family, my sanity…and you gave it all back, better than I could’ve ever dreamed. I can never repay you, but I’m going to try...if you’ll let me.”

They didn’t do anything. Nightmare was the one to do that for them. He didn’t need to repay anything. 

Not ever. 

“Dust, I love you. I love all of you and I couldn’t ask for a better family.”

He knew this was the lack of inhibitions brought on by the alcohol talking, but Dust couldn’t help something inside him aching. He sank forward into Nightmare’s shoulder, letting the other’s tendrils curl around him. The firm way they rubbed his back eased his pounding soul and he let himself relax into them as he tilted his head up.

No one was here. 

No one would hear this.

He steadied himself, taking hold of one of Nightmare’s tentacles and silently hoping he’d be able to say this again once the other was normal.

“I love you too.”


	12. Christmas Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas! The gang and the Star Sanses open presents.

Nightmare wheezed as what felt like a truck carrying fifty tons of concrete slammed into his stomach. He cracked open an eye socket, tentacles poised and ready to strike down whoever would be stupid enough to try an assassination attempt on him without the aid of positive magic...or missiles. 

Cross’ beaming face peered down at him. “Wake up, its Christmas!”

Was it? Nightmare turned his alarm clock and blinked at the flickering red numbers.

“Cross...it’s midnight.”

“On Christmas Day! That means we can open presents now right?!”

He rubbed the area between his eye sockets. Was it wrong that he almost wished it had been missiles? He could deal with missiles, he could deal with fire. What he now had to deal with was an excited skeleton with Christmas greed in his eye lights. No parent was ever ready for that before copious amounts of caffeine.

“Go back to bed and we’ll try this again in a few hours,” he said.

Cross sighed. “Seven?”

Nightmare snuggled back down into the duvet. He could argue, but knowing Cross, titanium infused chains wouldn’t be enough to keep him in bed once the presents started calling, and it was always hard to say no to that face. “Okay.”

The little skeleton lit up and yelled at the closed door. “He says seven!”

Three ease-dropping skeletons up way past their bedtimes whooped.

Oh for the-

“Go to bed!”

\-----

A portal opened in the middle of the hideout’s living room. Error wandered through and approached the tree. If he was quick, he could grab the ones addressed to him and be gone before anyone tried something stupid, like trying to make him sing Christmas carols…again.

A grandfather clock to his left chimed seven. The ceiling shook, the door burst open and a stampede of skeletons charged through. Anyone’s instincts upon seeing the gang laughing with such joy might’ve been to question if they were really as dangerous as everyone made them out to be. 

Anyone with _smarter_ instincts would’ve gotten out of the way fast.

Error fell into the former group and was instantly trampled before anyone had time to process he was there or how truly boned they were going to be once he got up. Everyone came to a halt several seconds too late to prevent the horrible accident and peered down at the flattened destroyer. Footprints coated his outfit, his eyes flickered with broken code and static buzzed from him like a nest of hornets. 

He’d looked better.

“Whoops,” Dust said.

Horror paled. “Quick grab his legs before he wakes up!”

As a group the gang lifted Error up and slung him onto the couch. 

“Do you think he’ll remember any of this later?” Cross asked.

Dust shrugged. “No clue, but if I’m dying, I’d prefer it to be after presents.”

He dove into the stack under the tree. The others rolled their eye lights, but soon joined in. Boxes shuffled and shook under their hands.

Cross ripped open his longest gift and let out a squeal. “Santa brought me my guitar!”

“…yay,” Horror said.

“And several sets of…magical earplugs?”

“YAY!” 

Cross frowned. “I’m going to be great at this.”

Dust chuckled. Cross would be amazing, but, in the meantime, they had earplugs. The big man was merciful. Horror would calm down once he saw the gleaming ribbon tied knife set behind the tree trunk anyway. He turned to watch the others open their gifts.

Horror tore open a bright green one and scowled. “Who’s the idiot who sent me this?”

A squeak rang out as he crushed a rubber bone in his palm. 

“Would you have preferred a leash?” Dust asked. 

“No.”

“Shame, I already got you one so what’d you want me to do with it?”

Horror’s blazing eye light and clenched fists said exactly what he wanted to _do_ with it should anyone be stupid enough to try collaring him.

Killer checked his present. Eye drops. 

Cross held up a cow plushie before immediately putting it back under the tree as if it would simply go away if he returned the thing from whence it came.

“How many of these are your joke gifts?” Horror asked.

“A couple, just throw any that start ticking out the window and we’ll be fine.”

Nightmare strolled in before anyone could throw _Dust_ out a window. 

Perfect. Dust snatched a polka dot wrapped box and held it out to him. 

A sceptical expression crossed the other’s features before he opened it and pulled out a blond, shaggy clump of hair. “Why did you get me a wig?”

“Thought you’d like it.”

Error stirred. A groan filled the room as his eye lights settled on the gang. “You all trampled me!”

In their defence, Error was between them and presents. Good thing everyone was smart enough to hold back saying so. The glitches teeth were bared, his body shook and no part of that said ‘let’s hold hands and pretend this never happened.’

He reached for his strings.

Nightmare moved between them. “Error, it’s Christmas.”

“They. Trampled. Me.”

Not moving an inch, Nightmare narrowed his sockets, “Christmas Day.”

The glitch lowered his hands and scoffed. “Humbug...anything for me?”

Dust stared at the present in his grasp. A tightly wrapped pink box with the ugliest Christmas sweater known to man inside. It sported a picture of an elf which looked about as much like the jolly imps as a queasy gremlin did, played ‘frosty the snowman’ on loop and to top it all, the off switch was mysteriously jammed.

You only lived once.

“Have this one.”

Several bodies tackled him to the floor before he could take another step with his ‘gift.’ They knew him too well, didn’t they? It was sweet. 

He stumbled up and opened a portal to Underswap while the others exchanged safer presents. Dust twirled his own gift from Santa between his phalanges and stepped through.

\-----

A few hours later in the Star Sanses' base, Dream straightened one of the baubles on the Christmas tree while Ink sat under it savaging the presents. Paper flew like confetti. Creator he may be, restrained he was not. 

Dream chuckled and settled next to him. He reached under the leaves and yanked out a tiny, wrapped tube with a purple bow, but no name tag. “Whose is this?”

Ink released his prey and shook it. “Blue must’ve dropped it off earlier. Only one way to find out.”

Once the paper was removed, Ink held a silver pen in his hand. Shiny and new, perfect for an artist. With a grin he clicked the button to release the nib.

Nothing. 

Ink frowned, jabbing at it several more times. Broken, a shame. Whoever sent that gift was going to be disappointed, it wasn’t as if they could exchange it for a-

Something flickered in the corner of Dream’s vision. A tiny red dot scurried along the carpet. It swayed from place to place in a lazy almost teasing way. He stiffened.

“Do you think we can fix it?” Ink asked.

“Huh?” Dream scolded himself and pulled his eyes away from the thing. His cheekbones burned. Whatever it was they could deal with it later. 

“Dream, are you listening?”

But what if it was hurt? What if it was frightened? It was so small and cute. 

He shifted uncomfortably. His soul twitched. Maybe he could help it. It was really pretty. What would it feel like to pet-

Where was it!!!

The dot wasn’t on the carpet anymore. Dream scanned the room. Had he scared it off? He hadn’t meant to! 

There!

The dot clung to a book atop one of Ink’s junk towers.

That wasn’t safe. He knew he should’ve tidied that mess up sooner. Go slow, don’t let it see him. Dream lowered himself to the floor and crawled towards the stack of cardboard boxes on his stomach. 

Ink tilted his skull. “Ummm Dream?”

“Shhhh! I’ll share if you’re quiet.”

That was a lie. He knew he should be nicer at Christmas and he normally would be, but it was soooo cute. The way it sparkled, the way it wiggled, he wasn’t sharing until he knew it was calm and happy. Ink would understand.

Dream dove at the tower and snatched at the light. Ink jerked forward to grab him. The dot shot away to the ground and Dream took off in pursuit. Books, boxes and balls burst from the stack as he pushed off against it. Ink yelped and jumped to the side frantically dodging the sudden assault of his own creations that’d been unleashed in his direction.

A problem for later.

The dot was running away from him again. It bounced over the coffee table and scrambled under the couch. He’d definitely startled it.

“Come back! I promise I won’t hurt you!” Dream yelled as he clambered over the table, sending Ink pale as jars of paint spilled over the artwork left there.

Did it understand English? Probably not, otherwise it might’ve been less timid. Dream shoved his skull under the couch, eye lights darting for the poor little creature. 

Ink gripped his shoulder and pulled him out. “What’re you looking for?” 

“I’m not sure what it is.” Dream deflated. “But, it’s alone and scared and-“

The tiny red dot hovered on Ink’s forehead. 

Dream slowly lowered himself back down into a pounce position, eyes locked, hands clawing at the carpet. “Don’t. Move.”

Ink took a step back. “What?!”

“BANZAI!” Dream unleashed a war cry and dove at the artist, grabbing for the dot.

Ink screamed and took off in the opposite direction as if some kind of madman was on his heels, and Dream was. The dot still gripped Ink’s skull for dear life, trembling at a speed that couldn’t be healthy.

“Stop!” Dream said.

Why wasn’t he listening?! The tiny thing would fall, it’d get hurt and it’d be his fault. Dream leapt at Ink’s legs. With a squeak they both tumbled along the carpet in a ball of limbs and confused yelling. The pen flew from Ink’s hand and hit the wall. It clicked. The dot vanished.

Dream pulled himself from the tangled heap. Blue stood in the doorway watching the pair. The little skeleton’s eyes lit up with their normal stars. “Is this a new kind of Christmas game? Can I play?”

“No,” Ink said. He heaved his scarf out from under Dream’s stomach. “The base’s been infiltrated by something and we’re looking for it.”

Dream explained the situation, including how adorable and helpless the tiny invader was and how it was definitely not a threat in any way. How could it be? Ink just spooked it.

Blue noticed the silver pen and scooped it up, clicking it again. He thrust his hand behind Ink’s belt and pulled out the dot. It shivered, but otherwise nothing appeared to be wrong with it. Dream reached out. He should pet it, let it know he was sorry. 

Blue stepped back. “Don’t, they’re fragile and rare. I’ll take it back to its AU.”

Oh, Blue knew what it was? That was good, but...

“Can I come too?” Dream asked.

Blue craned his neck to look at something. Dream turned. Golden magic flushed his skull as the full carnage of the chase presented itself. Boxes littered the floor, paint footprints stained the table and somehow a rubber ball had trapped itself in the ceiling fan. 

He should clean that up.

Dream apologised to Ink while Blue left.

\----- 

Dust rolled on his bed, practically cuddling Blue’s phone against his cheek as he watched the video for the sixth time.

A laser pointer. The man in red was a genius! Part of him still couldn’t believe Blue went along with it, but no one got hurt and the little skeleton _did_ ask him what he wanted for a present this year.

He hit the replay icon again and smiled.

So unbelievably cute!

This was officially the best Christmas ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end. Thank you to everyone for an amazing 12 days, this has been insanely fun.
> 
> I might be going on hiatus for a bit while I work out what I want to write next. But, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from me.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a kudo if you liked this or let me know what you think in the comments. I'm always excited to hear from you. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, I wish you all the best and hope you have an amazing one.


End file.
